Splintered Bones

by Carolyn Haines

  “Why, you don’t even recognize your own dog?” Tinkie’s voice was so bright and perky it verged on hysteria. “I took Sweetie up to Canine Curls and got her a dye job. It’s called Ravishing Redbone. Do you like it?”

  Even as she talked, she’d applied a tourniquet and was easing me down on the floor.

  From my vantage point, I looked up at the man in black. It was indeed Kinky Friedman. I recognized him from his book covers, his record albums, and my dreams.

  “Nice decor,” he said, looking around the room at the dead animals. “I’d like the name of the interior exterminator.”

  Carol Beth began to wiggle on the floor, attempting to extricate herself from dogs and the Kinkster.

  “Nice movement, wrong symphony,” Kinky said, pressing down a little more firmly on her wrist.

  “Carol Beth killed Kemper,” I said. “She confessed. I can testify to it.”

  “If you live that long,” Carol Beth snarled.

  “Sarah Booth, dear, you just concentrate on not dying,” Tinkie babbled. She was about to cry. “I think Sweetie looks a lot better as a redhead, but to be truthful, I’m really not up to rearing a hound. Chablis is enough for me.”

  Speaking of the furball, she trotted up to my side and gave my other cheek a few delicate little licks.

  “Just hold on, Sarah Booth. Coleman’s on the way.”

  I did hear the sound of a siren. It was the low, wailing sound of the blues.

  29

  When I came to in the emergency room, Coleman was standing over me and Doc Sawyer was bent over a tray by a sink.

  “Welcome back, Sarah Booth,” Coleman said, and there was such relief in his blue eyes that I had to smile.

  I didn’t feel a thing, except a strange and wonderful floating sensation. “The drugs here are pretty good. Are they legal? You know, I dreamed that Tinkie dyed Sweetie Pie mahogany, and Kinky Friedman showed up to help rescue me.”

  Coleman grinned. “Fancy that.”

  I tried to sit up, but he held me down with one big hand. “Doc has to stitch you up.”

  Doc turned around and came toward me, his daffodil hair shining like an angel’s halo—then I noticed the curved needle that looked like something you could use to land a fifty-pound channel cat. It took about two seconds to figure that it was the needle intended to sew on me.

  “I’m fine.” I tried again to get up, but Coleman once more pressed me to the table. “Police brutality,” I said.

  Coleman leaned down. “You can report it to Barney later. Right now you’re staying here until Doc gives you the high sign to leave.”

  Instead of fighting I closed my eyes. Surprisingly, though I felt the tugging of my flesh, I didn’t feel pain. It was over in less than ten minutes.

  “Lie still awhile,” Doc ordered me. “Coleman can take you home in a bit.”

  “I’m ready now.”

  “She’s still as stubborn as a mule,” Doc said. “And about as pretty as Joe Frazier.”

  “What?”

  “Your face,” Doc said with a merry grin. “Nothing broken, but it sure as hell looks like you had a fight.”

  I put my fingers up to feel my face. I withdrew them instantly. That part of my anatomy hadn’t been deadened.

  “The swelling will go down,” Coleman assured me. “Of course, your eyes are probably going to be black.” He leaned down and brushed a kiss on my cheek. “Yeah, there’s already some color coming in right there.”

  “I don’t know,” Doc said, coming to my other side to examine me. “Her eyes aren’t going to be black, but she’s going to have some beautiful scabs on her knees.”

  “You are sadists.” I was ready to move along.

  “Happy sadists,” Coleman said. “Happy that you’re alive. And you have some friends outside who want to talk to you. It’s a small thing, but you owe your life to Tinkie. She figured it out to rush out to Putnam Hall.” He motioned with an arm before I could respond. When the door swung open, I heard a babble of voices.

  Lee was the first one up to the table. Her red hair was neatly braided down her back, and she grabbed my uninjured arm. “Thank you, Sarah Booth.”

  “You’re out!” I wondered if the drugs were better than I thought.

  “I can’t thank you enough. If you hadn’t kept on and on, relentless as a pit bull, Carol Beth would have gotten away.”

  “Pit bull” wasn’t exactly a description I would want engraved on my tomb. The drugs had mellowed me, though, so I didn’t argue.

  Tinkie pressed forward and held Chablis out to give me a kiss on the face. “We were worried sick,” she said. “I thought Sweetie was going to kill Carol Beth. She just collapsed on her and completely shut off her lungs. I never realized that it might be a benefit to have a fat, ugly dog.”

  She looked over her shoulder and signaled someone else into the room. The man in the black cowboy hat stepped over to my bedside. “The number one rule of private investigating is always wait for the cavalry. I can see you need a little work with the P.I. handbook.”

  Tinkie slipped up beside him. “It was Mr. Friedman who convinced Sweetie Pie to get off Carol Beth. Although he’s a cat person, I think he’s bonded with Sweetie.”

  I vaguely remembered a visit from Kinky, but I wasn’t certain what part of my life was dream and what part reality. “Thanks,” I said, holding out my good hand.

  “My pleasure,” he said. “which is what everyone around here says when they really want to say ‘What the hell’s going on?’ ”

  Tinkie tapped his arm playfully. She was happily married, but had still retained her DG skills. “Sarah Booth will explain everything, as soon as she’s well. I don’t have any idea about the cat business, but Sarah Booth’s great-aunt Elizabeth was a little . . . eccentric. She had eighty-seven cats.”

  “Fifty-eight,” I corrected her.

  “Anyway, Sarah Booth has only the one dog. But if she sent you a message about cats in trouble, then she’ll explain it, all in good time,” Tinkie assured him, looking up at him with open admiration. She’d been biting down on her bottom lip and it popped out of her mouth. It was a moment that not even the Kinkster could resist.

  He leaned down and whispered, sotto voce, “If you’re not busy later tonight, we might talk about a little trip. You could send my penis to Venus.”

  Tinkie blushed and giggled. “I didn’t realize you were a poet, too.”

  I touched Tinkie’s arm. “Thanks for coming to the rescue. Hey, I dreamed you dyed Sweetie Pie.” My laugh sounded high and funny. “Can you imagine anything more ridiculous?”

  Tinkie’s eyebrows drew together and she bit her bottom lip again. “Sarah Booth, that wasn’t a—”

  “I think she’s had enough excitement,” Doc Sawyer said. “Maybe you folks should go on home.”

  Lee picked up my hand and squeezed it hard. “I have some really good news for you, Sarah Booth.” Her green eyes sparkled. “We’ll be at Dahlia House, waiting for you.”

  I didn’t get a chance to ask any more questions. Doc shooed them out of the room, and I was left to drift in the zone between sleep and wakefulness where the subconscious is free to conjure and entertain. There were voices and whispers. Someone stroked my forehead, and I thought for a while I was a young girl again. The chill of an ice pack on my face reminded me of cold winter mornings in New York when I was trying to be an actress. The wind would come blasting down narrow streets and into my face with a force so different from the grand sweep of a Delta wind.

  It was dark when I finally woke up. Doc was sitting on a chair, watching me.

  “Sweet dreams? You were mumbling up a fog.”

  “Depends on what you consider sweet.”

  “You’re going to be weak for a couple of days,” he said. “Blood loss. And a bit sore. We’ll get the stitches out in about ten days. I did what I could, but you’ll have a scar.”

  “I suppose my ambitions to model strapless gowns are over,” I said as I swung my feet ove
r the side of the table. I was a little dizzy, but it passed immediately.

  “You’re a lucky young woman.”

  “Yes, I suppose I am.”

  “And you have a lot of people who care about you, including me.” He came over and patted my uninjured shoulder. “I’ll call Coleman. He’s right down the hall. He wanted to take you home personally.”

  I realized that I was no longer wearing my jeans. Instead, my bandaged knees hung out of a backless hospital gown, which was a putrid pastel and did little to enhance my figure. I didn’t want to ask Doc what had happened to my pants or my bra, or who had removed them. Sometimes details are best left unknown. I slipped to my feet and found I could stand and walk. All in all, things were improving rapidly.

  Coleman came into the room with a grin as big as Texas. “You’re looking more like yourself. Ready to go home?”

  “Dorothy couldn’t be any readier.” I took his arm and he led me out into the Delta night. The cicadas were singing loud and vibrant in a stand of pines behind the hospital. The air was clean, with the tang of newly turned dirt from the fields all around us. Spring in the Delta is one of the very best times of year, and I took in a deep breath, glad to be alive.

  “How’s Krystal?” I asked.

  “Not exactly a grieving widow. And that friend of yours, J.B. Washington, came out of his coma. He was trying to tell you that Mike was going to kill Krystal. He overheard him on the phone telling LaCoco about the insurance policy.”

  “Is J.B. going to be okay?”

  “Right as rain. No permanent damage done, and I think his mama’s flung a net over Doc Sawyer. I caught them out in the parking lot, staring at some pine trees like it was a majestic bit of scenery.”

  “That’s great.” I leaned a little heavier on his arm than I really needed to. It was just nice to have an arm to lean on. “Another few minutes and Krystal would have been dead.”

  “She knows that. She said to tell you that she’s dedicating her first album to you.” Coleman chuckled. “The irony here is that she’ll finance that album with Mike’s insurance policy. They had mutual policies—a million dollars each.”

  “That’s what I’d call an ironic twist.”

  Coleman’s laugh was easy as he firmly grasped my elbow and helped me to his car. “By the way, that was terrific detective work. When Cece followed that lead you gave her and discovered that Mitchell Raybon was really Mike Rich, she called me right away. I was afraid you were in trouble, so I headed straight out to Putnam Hall. As it happened, Tinkie had stopped by Dahlia House to take Sweetie home from Canine Curls, and she found Kinky on the front porch with your note. Lucky for you Tinkie likes to drive that Caddy about a hundred and five. Tinkie and Kinky got there in the nick of time.”

  “They sound like a bad vaudeville act.” I stumbled on a rock, and Coleman’s arm went around my waist. “Are you okay?”

  “A little tired, but there are other things you need to know. Mike burned the barn.”

  “I know. Kip saw him. When LaCoco indicated he’d kill Avenger, Kip decided to ride him over to a friend’s house and hide him out. She saw Mike in the loft and smelled the gasoline. By the time she got Bud, the barn was in flames, and they decided to stage a dramatic exit.” He handed me into the car and then got behind the wheel.

  “They did a good job. How is Nathaniel Walz tied up in this?”

  “Through LaCoco. I call them the Buzzard Brigade. When Lee confessed to Kemper’s death, LaCoco knew Swift Level was in jeopardy. If Lee went to prison, Swift Level would be sold. He called Walz in as the front man to buy the property. They planned on getting it for nothing and developing it as a fancy resort.” Coleman eased the car out of the hospital parking lot and into the night.

  “Where are Walz and LaCoco?”

  “They left town. There was nothing I could actually charge them with, but I made it clear I’d keep looking until I found something. They decided to go where there was less scrutiny of their activities.”

  It was really over. I leaned back in the car seat. This was a much different ride from the last one I’d taken with Coleman. We were going a lot slower, and my hospital gown was a far cry from the beautiful red dress I’d worn.

  “I had a mechanic pick up your car,” Coleman said. “They’ll repair the rag top for you.”

  “Thanks, Coleman. Thanks for everything.”

  He turned on the car radio, and I stared out the window at all of the familiar sights as Willie Nelson’s “Stardust” played. The night sky over the dark fields was bejeweled with stars. The land was a part of me, deep inside, like blood and muscle. I’d traveled a good bit and seen beauty in many places, but none of it had the power to move me like the flat, fertile land of my home.

  Coleman’s voice in the easy comfort of the car was part of my homecoming. “Sarah Booth, you scared the life out of me. When I saw all of that blood . . .”

  He reached across the seat and took my good hand. Holding it lightly, he squeezed my fingers just as we turned down the drive to my home.

  Dahlia House was ablaze with lights. Tinkie’s Caddy was there, as well as Krystal’s car, and several others I didn’t recognize. My friends, and Mr. Friedman, were standing on the porch.

  Cece, dazzling in a sheer red sundress with spaghetti straps and dancing sandals, held up her glass. “To Sarah Booth!” They all lifted their glasses and someone stuck a flute of champagne in my hand. We toasted as the front door burst open. A big brown dog rushed out to greet me.

  “Sweetie Pie?” I almost choked. My gaze shot up to Tinkie.

  “It’s not permanent,” she said in a rush. “It’ll wash out in a few weeks.”

  Lee was laughing, and I thought how young she looked. It was as if she’d left the old woman back in the cell.

  “I have a surprise for you.” She took my elbow and began to steer me off the porch and around the house. “Sarah Booth, I know I made it hard on you. All of the evidence pointed to Kip as the murderer. The only thing I could do was protect her the only way I knew how. That was to take the blame. Bud was the only one who really believed she was innocent. He never would concede that she might have killed Kemper, even if she had every reason in the world to do it.”

  “We both owe Kip an apology,” I pointed out.

  “She owes you one, too. She lured Mr. Friedman here under false pretenses, but that will all be explained soon enough.”

  She was hustling me along pretty rapidly. Everyone else had fallen into line behind us. There was an expectant silence that both warned and excited me.

  We rounded the corner, and I saw that someone had turned on the lights in the old barn that Aunt LouLane had used as a storage shed. Lee let out a whistle, and there was an answering whinny from inside the barn. A magnificent buckskin horse burst out of the barn and ran to the rickety fence.

  “His name is Reveler. He’s a four-year-old by Avenger, out of a terrific mare, Miss ScrapIron. He’s yours, Sarah Booth.”

  “Mine?” I had to be dreaming. I’d always wanted a horse.

  Reveler came to the fence and tossed his head, thick black mane flying. With a snort, he spun and galloped across the paddock, his muscles rippling.

  “You can keep him here, or bring him back out to Swift Level. Whatever is easiest for you.” Lee’s hand was on my back, gently rubbing.

  “Lee, I can’t accept a horse. Especially not one of Avenger’s babies.” I knew how valuable Reveler’s lineage made him.

  “Sure you can. You can have the horse, or wait until spring and I’ll pay you the money I owe you for handling my case. Now for the rest of the surprise.” Lee whistled again. “Come on out!”

  I looked to the open doorway and felt a small explosion in my heart. A teenage girl and a tall cowboy came walking out. Kip was leading a big gray stallion.

  I stared at them. “I hope Coleman can figure out a charge to put you both in jail for scaring us all half to death.” I hadn’t realized how mad I was at Bud and Kip.

&nbs
p; “Sarah Booth, dahling,” Cece called out, “you don’t have to act like an ass just because yours is hanging out the back of that devastatingly awful hospital gown.”

  Cece, as usual, was right on target. Kip, Bud—and Avenger—were safe. That was all that really mattered.

  Kip climbed through the fence and wrapped an arm around me. “I’m sorry, Sarah Booth. I let you know as soon as I could.”

  “I’m glad you’re okay.” I kissed her cheek.

  “I won’t stay mad at you for thinking I was a murderer if you won’t stay mad at me,” she said, her eyes dancing. “Thank you, Sarah Booth. You saved my mother.”

  “Tinkie actually gets the credit. And Kinky,” I said. “They saved me, too. Now, where have you been?” I asked her.

  “At Roscoe’s place. Over in Leflore County. Not very far away.” She turned to Kinky. “I’ve explained everything to Mr. Friedman, and how you weren’t involved in the story I made up.” She bit her lip and leaned over to whisper. “He’s been really nice about it.”

  “Should I ever decide to write a book about crazy Mississippians,” Kinky said, “I’ve got more than enough material.”

  Cece tucked her arm through Kinky’s. “We do crazy like nobody else can do it.” She waved a hand. “One can’t celebrate without food. Millie’s on her way with some barbecue and cole slaw,” she said. “Harold’s bringing some ice. This is going to be the first barbecue of the season. I’ve got to call Garvel to bring a camera. Imagine the spread I can do—Kinky Friedman as celebrity guest; Lee absolved; Carol Beth in jail; Bud, Kip, and Avenger risen from the dead. It’s a perfect pre-Easter story.”

  It was the wee hours before I finally made it to my bedroom. Since I was only wearing a hospital gown, the process of undressing was much easier.

  I crawled beneath the comforter. My arm throbbed, despite the tender ministrations of my good friend Jack. I had a bit of him beside the bed, which I intended to sip, while I unwound.

  “So, you get yourself shot and still end up in bed alone.”